A Forthcoming Wizard

by Jody Lynn Nye

  Halcot gave a blunt nod.

  “I agree. Good thought, lad.”

  “As do I,” Soliandur said, after a moment. “We became caught up in the battle. Wizards pushed us into this—though not you, my lady,” he added, with a nod to Serafina. “Common sense says we should stop it if we can. Will it work?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Magpie said frankly, “but it’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Give it a try,” Halcot said. He turned to Teryn. “Captain, it is so ordered. Stand down. Lose no more of my brave soldiers.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Teryn said. Magpie thought he saw relief on her face. She saluted and marched out. Halcot slapped his gloves into his palm.

  “I’ll go find the abbess and explain it to her.”

  “No,” Inbecca said. “She is my aunt. I will tell her.”

  Soliandur fixed his gaze upon his son. “Go with her.”

  “I shall, Father.”

  He followed Inbecca outside. Salt-laden wind slapped them in the face.

  “Weather is coming on,” he said, squinting at the sky. A few silver-gray clouds were smeared across the stars. “We should move farther out to sea.”

  “Ware!”

  A huge thraik zipped over their heads almost as soon as they had taken off. Its humanlike face was contorted with hatred for the beings in its wake. Five of the knights flew in its wake like white arrows winging after a raven. Magpie still felt a chill at the weird wings that flapped upon their backs. Inbecca snapped him back to the task at hand.

  “There she is!” she said, pointing upward. Magpie spotted a troop of the Scholardom flying back and forth in the face of a huge crowd of hissing thraiks. She pulled the reins up, and the borrowed horse galloped willingly toward the fray.

  “Aunt!” Inbecca shouted as they came within a dozen yards. “Aunt, can you hear me?”

  “Not now, Lar Inbecca!” Sharhava stopped in midair, and the beast she was harrying fled into the darkness to the south of the ships. Her distorted face turned toward them. Inbecca’s own face twisted at the sight of the fanged teeth and the knobbly cheekbones. For a moment Magpie thought she might cry.

  Inbecca stood up in her stirrups. “A decision has been reached, Aunt. We must let them take the decoy. Do you hear me?”

  “Let them take it?” Sharhava echoed. She wrinkled her forehead. “Never!”

  “It’s not . . . it’s not real,” Inbecca said, not wanting to say too much lest the thraiks understand her. “You know that! Let them have it, Aunt. Enough people have suffered.”

  Sharhava vacillated for just a moment. “That is true. Very well, then. I concur. But we must not make it seem too easy. The lord thraik is intelligent. Leave it to me! Tell them that!”

  “I will, Aunt.” Inbecca reined the horse away, heading back down to the deck.

  The Scholardom responded to Loisan’s cry to assemble. The winged humans sailed together high above the ships. Magpie watched them with fascination as they spread out again.

  Teryn had given her company the order to stand down. The remaining guards took their steeds to the Eclipse, out of harm’s way.

  The weather added to the confusion. The wind blew hard enough to cause the ships to rock hard at anchor.

  “This is growing foul,” Haroun shouted up to them as they circled low, between the rigging and the masts. “I see lightning!”

  Magpie glimpsed a jagged streak in the distant sky that burned a yellow image upon his eyes. Thunder rolled across the sea. The storm would be upon them shortly. “The thraiks must succeed before then.”

  One pass. Two passes. Five. Gradually, Sharhava was pulling her knights away, sending them off into the distance, leaving fewer and fewer defenders on high. Their vulnerability left Magpie chilled, but he knew it was necessary.

  The first drops of rain hit him like the sting of a whip. More lightning gashed the sky. Careful not to look directly at it lest it blind him, Magpie saw his shadow burst in stark blackness on the cabin wall. The shadow of a thraik was behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the largest beast he had ever seen.

  “Eremi!” Inbecca screamed.

  Tessera whinnied with fear. Magpie kicked his heels hard into her side and pulled her upward and around, heading directly into the face of the lord thraik. Tessera bucked under him, frightened of the creature’s glowing eyes.

  “Forward, dear one, forward now! It’ll be over soon, I swear it. It will be all right . . .”

  The beast came toward him with its tongue flicking out of its horrible fanged mouth. He brandished his sword, prepared to slash the monster’s throat. Their lives would cost it dearly.

  Suddenly the thraik ducked beneath him, so close to Tessera’s hooves that the backwash of wind sent them tumbling head over heels. The mare screamed. Magpie held on with both arms and legs as the mare struggled to right herself. Rain lashed them, drowning him in midair. His foot slipped out of the saddle, and his sword hilt twisted in his hand.

  The lord thraik closed its wings and dropped. It landed upon the deck only yards ahead of King Halcot and King Soliandur. It seized the scroll of maps in its claws, then bounded upward. Triumph was written upon its ugly face as red and yellow lightning burst in the sky over their heads. It screamed, and its subjects echoed the cry.

  Magpie whispered to Tessera, trying to calm her. They were upright again. The mare turned white-rimmed eyes to him.

  “Let’s go down, my dear,” he said.

  Inbecca was at his side, her soaking wet, too large habit flapping around her, on her borrowed horse. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” he shouted back. They reached the deck of the ship just as the bulk of the storm rolled in upon them like an avalanche.

  “Has the wizard brought this down upon us?” Haroun yelled over the howl of the winds. “Lightning is not red!”

  “It’s not his doing! We’ve seen this before,” Magpie replied, dragging Tessera toward the ramp that led belowdecks. Rain began to lash the rigging. By the light of the lanterns he could see it was a sickly green in hue. The clouds twisted and bulged like a living creature. “It’s called the Madcloud! It’s wizard weather!”

  “We need to get out of it,” the werewolf captain said. “The Corona’d be torn apart on the rocks if we don’t.”

  “We must not leave this place,” Serafina said, running after them. “Master Olen expects to find us here.”

  The captain turned wild yellow eyes upon her. “My lady, if we don’t go, all he will find is flotsam and jetsam!” He let out a sharp whistle and a howl that cut through the wail of the wind. The crew answered from every corner.

  “We’ll need to row,” Patha said. “Every hand that can move an oar, we’ll need.”

  “One good thing about this weather,” Halcot said, his beard streaming with rain. “All the thraiks are gone. Look!” Above them, the winged beasts vanished into the blackness. Magpie wished he could step through reality, too. The Scholardom fought against the wild winds. He and Inbecca handed their way across the deck to help them down one by one.

  “These wings aren’t so good in bad weather,” Loisan said with gruff humor as they pulled him aboard. “Have to remember that for the next time.”

  “There’s my aunt!” Inbecca cried, running to intercept a body plummeting toward them.

  Sharhava, her hood blown off her head, leaned into the maelstrom, her wings nearly closed against her sides. Patha leaped into the air and wrapped her arms around the abbess, bringing her down onto the deck with a thump. They struggled to their feet, leaning on one another, wolf woman and winged warrior. Sharhava looked as triumphant as the lord thraik had been.

  “We did well,” she said, embracing Patha. “It was worth the change.”

  Haroun and his crew herded everyone toward the cabin. “If we live through this, it will be worth it.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  istress Summerbee,” a voice whispered urgently. “Listen to me. You must wake.”

&
nbsp; Tildi fought her way back to consciousness. Precious air flooded her lungs. She opened her eyes with a gasp and felt around for the book. It lay beside her. She looked up at the anxious face of Lar Mey, who knelt beside her. She had succeeded in rebuilding the big chamber, down to the wizard-lights that clung to the walls. Weapons drawn, Morag and Demballe stood on guard with their backs to her. The other two knights flanked Master Olen. He stood outside a cocoon of brilliant gold in which the two Makers stood with the Compendium’s rune between them. The book itself stretched and shrank, twisted and bent like a snake with a bellyache in response to the damage being inflicted upon its true name.

  “Why did you come here, Calester?” Knemet asked. “You knew that destruction must result if we met again. I welcome it! You do not. It was foolish of you.”

  “I came for the sake of friendship,” Calester said.

  “What? Ours? You were one of the ones who betrayed me.”

  “No.” Calester’s long cheeks creased in a smile. He glanced out at Olen and the knights. “Theirs. They convinced me to come here to find their loved ones. I agreed, because it would give me a chance to shut you away from the world once and for all time.”

  “What?” demanded Lar Mey, from outside the glowing ward. “You lied to us! You said you would help us save Mistress Summerbee’s companions!”

  They ignored him. Knemet sneered at Calester.

  “That is your solution? You would shut me away to suffer eternity in this drab world?”

  “Not in the world,” Calester said. “You do not deserve access to the world. You do too much harm. I think it will have to be a tomb. If you comply peacefully I will help you to sleep away the eternity you do not wish to face. You are too dangerous to leave free.”

  “That is not enough!”

  The golden bubble expanded outward. Its force threw Tildi and the others against the walls of the chamber.

  Knemet reached through the spell and seized the Compendium by a spindle. Tildi fought against the magical force holding her in place. He must not have it!

  “Mine!” he cried, holding it high above his head. “Peace at last.”

  Tildi concentrated all her will upon the book. It had been her dearest and closest companion for many months. He wanted to destroy it. He must not have it.

  Obediently, it flew out of Knemet’s fingers and up toward the conical ceiling. The pale wizard looked stunned.

  “How have you gained power over the Compendium?” he asked Calester. “How, when none of us could make it move a hairbreadth?”

  Calester gave him a superior smile. “I told you that it didn’t belong to you.” He rose into the air toward the book. Knemet kicked away from the ground and sped toward it. Calester looked back at him and flung out a hand. Runes grew into walls, fire, a rain of blobs that adhered to the small Maker’s skin and spread outward, threatening to suffocate him. Knemet threw off each of the attacks without trouble and angled past the taller wizard. He clapped his hands in Calester’s surprised face. The Guardian was stunned by a burst louder than thunder. Knemet kicked upward past his old colleague and reached for the scroll.

  He would not have it. Tildi caused it to fly downward, away from him. Knemet pursued it with all the fervor of a hawk chasing prey. It penetrated the golden wall again and into her waiting arms. Knemet flew toward it, and bounced off a thin wall of gray. Knemet glared at Olen and back at Tildi.

  “It was not his talent after all, but yours, twig-girl,” he said, wiping out the golden cocoon with an angry gesture. The guards dropped to the ground. Tildi just kept herself upright with the aid of her spell. Knemet’s eyes seemed to whirl with curiosity. “That is why your companions said the Compendium is special to you. It is a marvel I wish I had time to examine. No matter. Prepare to die with it, then.” White-hot fire grew between his hands. When Tildi could no longer bear to look at it, Knemet turned unexpectedly and flung it at Olen.

  The gray-cloaked wizard put up his hands to protect himself. The fire burst upon a hastily made shield and consumed it. Olen shouted spells to counter the fire, but he vanished within a pillar of flame. Tildi cried out in horror. Knemet turned back to her.

  Calester recovered his wits. He brought his fists together with a mighty clap. Blue light surrounded Knemet, and he froze. Calester descended, his hands out, applying rune after rune to the initial layer. Knemet fought him, throwing off one spell after another, but he could not keep up with Calester.

  “You are weaker than you were,” Calester said. “Do you yield? You will be at peace.”

  “Yield to you?” Knemet snarled. “You always robbed me of my heart’s desires, Calester.”

  “I never did. What did I ever steal that you truly desired?”

  “What about Boma?” Knemet asked. Calester looked genuinely astonished.

  “We were colleagues. Her heart turned away from you when you began to destroy indiscriminately.”

  Now Knemet looked baffled. “I did not! They were making weak things! She couldn’t see that what they did would not prosper. They caused suffering, and they couldn’t see. She couldn’t see it.”

  “She had her weaknesses, brother. So did we all. But we did not seek to thwart one another, nor to do harm. You did. I tried to tell you that.”

  Knemet set his jaw. Gouts of pure power flew at Calester, counterspells against his magic. “You abandoned me. You all abandoned me. She betrayed me. She turned to you.”

  Calester avoided the spells, diverting them to fly upward and away from any of the others in the room. “Not in the way you think. You terrified her. You seemed to have no boundaries left.”

  “That is what we were doing, escaping all boundaries to see where magic could lead us. We were greater than creation itself, greater than Time and Nature!”

  “In the end, we were not,” Calester said sadly. “Time especially became too much for all of us. Even I took a respite from the world. It is then when the Compendium passed by me.”

  “You drove me out,” Knemet snarled. “You, my greatest friend. She, my dear one. She betrayed me for you.”

  Calester looked stricken. “She never did, and in your heart you know that. She just could not stand to be by you any longer. You meant the destruction of all things that she knew. That has not changed. You still mean to destroy, and for the most selfish purpose of all—you want to be at peace.”

  Knemet’s face was grayer than ever, and the rainbow eyes were dimmed. “I would not destroy myself if I had anything to live for. She would have given me that reason!”

  With an effort, he flung his hands outward. Runes danced upon the air. Liches swarmed into the chamber and surrounded Calester. The tall Maker fell to one knee as moss-men tumbled in on him. He blanketed them with runes of his own, but nothing seemed to affect the faceless creatures. They were as strong as an avalanche. In a moment, he was buried beneath a writhing blanket. The guards ran to help him. They pulled liches away, but they surged back. Lar Mey was knocked off his feet by their strength and their sheer numbers. Morag, his eyes glowing blue, kicked them away, seeking to free the trapped wizard.

  Knemet turned toward Tildi. She backed away, filled with loathing for him. “You are without defenders, child. I applaud your valiance. You cannot keep it from me any longer.”

  One of the voices cried out to her. Calester had called her Boma. Was that the one whom Knemet was mourning? What would he do if she spoke to him now? Could she cause him to stop his mad rush toward destruction, or would it not matter at all?

  She looked at the Great Book. It was dearer to her than her own life’s blood. She was willing to die to keep it from Knemet, but she feared for the others. They would never leave the chamber alive unless she took a terrible chance. The voice, ringing insistently in her mind, might be the only way to stop him. She held up the book and commanded it to fly.

  “No!” Calester cried. The guards had just helped him to stand. He reached out to Tildi, but it was too late.

  The huge scroll smacked
into Knemet’s arms. Instinctively, they folded around the round body of white parchment. His fingers caressed it. His pinched face relaxed, and his eyes closed.

  “Boma,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

  “Yes,” Calester said. “She is there. Girl, how could you do that? Take it back, hurry!”

  Tildi looked at Knemet. His face wore a genuine smile for the first time since she had seen him. “Not yet, master.”

  “Cnetegh!” Olen’s voice bellowed, and the flames that had surrounded him died away. He regarded the scene before him and beamed at Tildi. The sleeves of his robe were scorched. His long beard and curling eyebrows had been singed by the flames, but he was otherwise unharmed. “Well done, apprentice.”

  “How can someone be in the Compendium?” Knemet asked in disbelief. He turned to Calester. “What are they doing inside it?”

  “Why was I a statue for so long?” Calester countered. He gave Tildi a startled glance, but turned back to Knemet. “I wearied of life. We all did. A few of our number allowed themselves to die. They had not done what you and I had to prolong their existence, so it was possible. The others chose to spend their eternities together. It was a new kind of magic that we invented together. I was not yet bored or lonely enough to be one of them, and I am not yet. But you are. You can join them. You can be at peace.”

  “An elegant solution,” Olen said approvingly.

  “No, he has killed too many!” Lar Mey shouted. “Find a way to kill him without endangering the book!”

  “It cannot be done,” Olen said. “You saw that neither magic nor weapons can harm him.”

  “What about my parents and my brothers?” Tildi asked. “What about all the others he had brought here to die? Will he not be punished at all?”

  Morag glared. “He wanted to destroy the book, and all it controls! Our world was to perish, to satisfy his whim.”

  “It is so he could perish,” Calester said simply. “He wants to leave the world. He shall.”

  “There must be consequences,” Lar Mey said. “We know our friends to be alive, but what about the others?”